No Greater Love
by bluedragon1836
Summary: Watson is kidnapped by a thief turned murderer seeking revenge on Holmes. How far will Holmes go to save his friend?
1. Chapter 1

**This story started out as a random scene I started writing. I ended up writing from that scene to the end and then I wrote the beginning. Seriously, the only way I could have written this story more backwards was if I had written the last sentence first and so on. So I apologize ahead of time for any problems with the flow of the story. Enjoy.**

**Note: due to a very helpful review sent by KCS, I have reposted this chapter with a few minor details and stuff added. Thanks, KCS :)**

**No Greater Love**

"Well, Holmes," said I, seating myself gratefully on the sofa, "I for one am glad that this whole thing is over."

"Yes, quite," Sherlock Holmes replied as he hung up his coat and hat. "A rather unpleasant business." He sprawled himself in his favorite armchair and lit his pipe. The past several days had been spent solving a robbery that had turned into cold, brutal murder. This morning had found the two of us testifying in court against the culprit, Charles Murdock, a man who was apparently responsible for many other thefts all over the country. He had been found guilty and was sentenced to hang at the end of the week. Justice had been served once more by Sherlock Holmes. I was just glad to sit down and get some decent rest.

A few days later, I came to the breakfast table to find that Holmes was not yet up. I was not too surprised at this. The man had slept deucedly little since the case began. Mrs. Hudson entered with her usual cheery countenance, carrying with her the breakfast tray. I thanked her as she set it down, the delicious smells rising out of the covered dishes. Replying to my thanks, she left the room.

As I sat down and began to butter a piece of toast, my eye fell upon the morning newspaper and a headline featured on the front page. "Murderer Escapes Prison" it read. Curious, I began to read. Thus it was that when Holmes arrived at the breakfast table, I was still staring at the paper.

"Something the matter?" he asked, sitting down and helping himself to eggs and toast.

"That fellow, Murdock, escaped from prison last night."

Holmes stared. "Escaped?"

"That's what it says. The police are actively searching for him, but have found nothing as yet."

"Hm." Nothing more was said on the matter and we ate out excellent fare in relative silence save for some trivial conversation about varies topics of interest. Holmes, though in a seemingly good mood, was not overly talkative.

A week or so went by. Holmes solved a few minor problems presented to him. Murdock remained at large though the matter was not of much interest. He had been proven guilty. That was enough for me and, apparently, for Sherlock Holmes.

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In a dirty, abandoned warehouse, Charles Murdock smiled wolfishly, his dark eyes gleaming. At last, his plans were made with fool-proof accuracy. He would have his revenge. Sherlock Holmes was the one man in England smart enough to catch him. After tonight, he would very much regret that fact.

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One evening for no apparent reason, I was feeling restless. The evening being very nice, I decided to go out on a short walk. Holmes, being busy with a chemistry experiment of some kind, declined my invitation to come with me. At least, I assumed that the absent "Mmm" coupled with a dismissory hand-gesture meant no. It is always hard to tell with Holmes. At any rate, I found myself walking slowly along the street alone, enjoying the evening air. I had just rounded a corner when a rather rough-looking fellow addressed me.

"Excuse me, sir, do you have a light?"

"Certainly," I said. I pulled out my matches and was about to strike one when something slammed into the back of my head, sending me into darkness.

**To Be Continued . . .**

**Please review. I would say sorry about the cliffhanger, but it wouldn't entirely be sincere since I can be a totally evil writer.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter. I was both pleased and surprised when I checked my email this morning and found a flood of story alerts and reviews. Thanks so much. **

**As a note, I have reposted the first chapter. The explanation is in the preface of said chapter. Enjoy!**

It was going on eight o'clock when, my experiment finished, I realized that Watson had never returned. Odd considering that he had gone out at five past six. Worry began to tug at me. Could something have happened? I was in the midst of pulling on my coat to go look for him when Mrs. Hudson entered.

"A telegram just arrived for you, sir," she said, handing it to me.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I answered. "By the way, has Watson come back yet?"

"No, he hasn't."

The worry grew. "Thank you." She left the room and I pulled open the telegram. As I read the contents, an icy fear settled in my chest.

"_Holmes,"_ it read, _"As I am sure you have noticed by now, Dr. Watson is missing. If you have any wish to see him alive, you will not go to the police. I will relay further instructions to you. Signed, Charles Murdock."_

With trembling fingers, I laid the note down upon the table. He had Watson. If he hurt him . . . Throwing off my coat, I began to pace the room, trying to thing of something, anything, that I could do. Trying desperately to contain myself, I rang for Mrs. Hudson. When she arrived, I told her what I dared: that Watson was missing and that I could not go to Scotland Yard. I asked that she contact the Baker Street Irregulars, as I called them, and tell Wiggins to come see me. She nodded, tight-lipped, and hurried out.

Within half-an-hour, Wiggins was standing before me, clearly concerned, but trying to hide it.

"What do you need me an' me mates to do, Mr. 'Olmes?"

"I need you to listen and watch. If you find any hint of where Dr. Watson is, let me know immediately. Oh, and you might to keep an eye on me as well."

"You want someone to follow you, sir?"

"Yes, Wiggins. If I am led to where Watson is, it is up to whoever is following me to get the police."

"I understand, sir." I nodded my thanks and gave him several shillings. Wiggins bobbed his head and headed for the door. I had turned back to face the fire and was surprised to hear him speak again.

"I'm sure that Dr. Watson will be alrigh', sir. He can take care of 'imself."

I nodded. "I know, Wiggins. Thank you." The boy closed the door behind him and I lit my pipe. Watson would be alright. I would make sure of it.

Much of that night was spent pacing the room. Sleep was impossible. Watson was in danger. My Watson was in danger. And it was, undoubtedly, my fault. I would not rest until he was safe once more.

**To Be Continued . . .**

**Reviews are welcomed (hint, hint).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to the folks who have reviewed this story. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. Well, you might, but . . . anyway, on with the story!**

I awoke with a throbbing headache. Trying to reach up and rub my head made me realize that I was bound hand and foot to a chair. I struggled against the ropes, but to no avail. Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded.

"Ah, Dr. Watson, you are awake." Murdock stood before me, hands in his pockets. Beside him was the man who had asked me for a light earlier. I realized now that the entire confrontation had been a setup.

"What do you want?" I asked coldly.

"Oh nothing from you," replied Murdock. "It's Holmes I want. You're simply my means to get him. Don't worry. No harm will come to you. At least, if he does what I want." He smiled rather unpleasantly.

"Burbank, here will take care of you." The other man stepped forward, thrusting a cloth of some sort into my mouth. I glared at Murdock who ignored me and headed away, probably to complete whatever dastardly scheme he had in mind. Burbank meanwhile leaned against one wall and lit a cigarette.

I tested my bonds once more, but they were unforgiving. I was perfectly helpless and that only made me angrier. My eyes roved about the room as I tried to think of something to do. I seemed to be in a large warehouse. Judging by the emptiness and the amount of dust and cobwebs everywhere, it must have been abandoned or disused. I could also hear what sounded like water. Could I be by the docks perhaps? I am sure Sherlock Holmes could have rambled on about his observations, but that was the best I could do. Holmes. What could Murdock want with him? Revenge? Oh, dear. An icy hand of forbidding closed about me. Be careful, Holmes. For God's sake be careful.

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I must have fallen asleep at last for a knock at the door awakened me. I leapt out of the armchair, crying, "Come in!" It was Mrs. Hudson.

"Another telegram, sir." I had snatched it before she had finished speaking. Tearing it open, I read the contents with mounting anger and worry.

"_Come to the docks tonight at seven o'clock. Burbank will be waiting to bring you to me. Do not contact the police or Watson will pay for it."_ I crumpled the note in my fist and began to pace.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?" asked the landlady. Her voice startled me; I had quite forgotten her presence. "Is it about Dr. Watson?"

"Yes, it is. I will be going out tonight. You need not bother about fixing dinner for me."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I'll pray for you, sir. Both of you."

"Thank you," I said and meant it. Mrs. Hudson left quietly, her soft footfalls retreating. I stared after her a moment, willing myself to hear Watson upon the steps, but there was nothing. Sighing, I returned to my armchair to wait. Watson was the best, indeed the only, true friend I had. I would do anything to get him back.

**Once more, reviews are loved ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it took so long to install the next chapter. I've been busy with life and all that. Thanks so much to the people who have been reviewing this story. You're the reason I bother to upload my stories. Thanks so much. **

**Okay, so I have been asked why Holmes is taking Murdock so seriously and since I'm not sure where to put this in the story, I will say it here. If I had ever written a prequel, it would make sense, but . . . well, I haven't. Murdock started out as a thief. He was very good and no one could catch him. One night, he was robbing a house and someone saw him in the act. He murdered the witness and escaped. It was not the only murder he had commited either. Holmes knew that Murdock had no qualms about killing and would not hesitate to kill Watson. Basically, Murdock is evil!!!! Though he's not quite as bad as Moriarty if I had to guess. Enjoy.**

Somewhere in the distance, church bells began to chime the hour with a cheerfulness that seemed out of place considering the events taking place.

Murdock smiled eagerly, reminding me unpleasantly of a wolf anticipating a kill. "Seven o'clock. Burbank, go see if Holmes is about." The man nodded and left. If I had not heard that fellow speak when he asked me for a light, I would have thought he was mute.

"The moment of truth," Murdock continued, addressing me. "Does Mr. Sherlock Holmes care enough for his friend to sacrifice himself?" I narrowed my eyes angrily. "I will be disappointed if he doesn't," said Murdock, ignoring me. Casually, he pulled a revolver from his pocket. I swallowed, that feeling of forbidding returning to grip me.

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I arrived at the docks a few minutes before the bells chimed seven o'clock. A slight mist was rising off the river and everything was very quiet save for the sounds of merrymaking in some of the taverns nearby. Suddenly, a rough looking personage materialized out of the fog. He stoped before me.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said gruffly.

"Yes. Are you Burbank?"

He ignored my question. "Walk." He pointed off into the fog. Acutely aware that he was watching my every move, I headed off into the fog.

After several minutes, we arrived at the door of an old warehouse, long since abandoned for whatever reason. It had a gloomy air about it, deepened by the dim light of the distant streetlights.

"Knock," my guide ordered. I glanced at him and knocked briskly on the wooden door.

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Burbank's return was heralded by a knock on the door. My being was flooded by a mix of emotions as Sherlock Holmes entered; relief that he was here, fear about what might befall him, and a strange, warm feeling caused by the knowledge that he really did care. That I really did matter to him. That I was important to him.

"So, Mr. Holmes, you did come," said Murdock, revolver in hand.

"How could I not?" Holmes asked, his glance flickering to me.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Watson. I hoped his life would be incentive enough."

Holmes bristled. "If you've harmed him, I'll - "

"He is quite unharmed," Murdockinterrupted. "Save, of course, for a slight knock on the head. And the fact that he was been tied up for several hours. It can't have been comfortable."

"Release him," demanded Holmes.

Murdock held up a finger. "All in good time."

"What do you want with me?"

The convict's face, what I could see of it, hardened. "Because you were the only person in all England to catch me and send me to the gallows. You're a nuisance, Holmes."

"So, it's revenge you're after," said Holmes, his tone saying that he had already guessed this. "And why kidnap Watson? He has done nothing."

"I knew that he would bring you to me without a fuss. I wanted you to know who would bring about your final end. So, I kidnapped and threatened your friend here. I must say it had the desired effect."

Cold fury darkened Holmes's gray eyes. "Release him," he commanded again, his voice rigid with anger.

"Why should I?" Murdock asked, clearly enjoying this.

"Because I'm here. You wanted me, now here I am."

The villain smiled slightly. "Yes, you are." He nodded to Burbank who began to cut me free. As soon as the gag was out of my mouth, I spoke to Holmes.

"What the devil are you doing?!" Holmes did not answer, merely watching as I stood up stiffly.

"You are free to leave as soon as I am finished," said Murdock without looking at me. I ignored him.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," I told my friend.

"I am afraid you may have to," replied Holmes. I took a step towards him, but was arrested by Burbank's rough grip on my shoulder.

"I will not leave you in the hands of this-this scoundrel!"

An almost affectionate look came onto Holmes's face. "My dear, Watson, you are too stubborn for your own good." I did not know what to say. To argue was useless and with Burbank's grip upon me, I could do nothing.

"I believe now is the time for you to say goodbye, Mr. Holmes," said Murdock firmly. "You have caused me quite enough trouble. That ends tonight." Swiftly, he raised the gun and fired. Holmes staggered, shock and pain filling his face.

"Holmes!" I cried. Burbank released me as I ran towards my friend. He collapsed limply into my arms and I lowered him slowly to the ground. I heard Murdock laugh, a door slamming shut, but I could spare no time or thought to him. Pillowing my coat behind his head, I pulled open Holmes's shirt, now ruined with blood, and pressed my hankerchief to the wound. He had been shot though the upper abdomen. I needed to get him to a hospital, but if I did not stabilize him first, it would not matter. Holmes winced, his eyes shutting.

"Here now, none of that," I said, trying hard to mask my fear. "You have to stay with me."

He peered at me. "I'll do my best, Watson," he answered with some effort.

"See that you do." My hankerchief was growing soaked with blood. His blood. And more of it covered my hands. _You're a doctor, man,_ I told myself, _and he is your patient. Keep it together._ But I knew that Holmes could never be just another patient. I realized that his eyes had closed again.

"Holmes! Stay with me!" He blinked blearily at me a moment before his gray eyes slid slowly shut. "Holmes!" I cried again. "Don't you dare give up on me! I lost you once! Never again! Do you hear me, Holmes? Never again!"

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It was getting colder. My eyes were heavy. I could not keep them open. Everything was fading. Watson's voice broke through the fog beginning to settle over me.

"Holmes! Stay with me!" I forced my eyes open, strugglingto focus on my friend. His face was drawn with fear and concern. For me. Before the darkness claimed me, I heard his despairing cry.

"Don't you dare give up on me! I lost you once! Never again! Do you hear me, Holmes? Never again!" The words echoed about the dark expanse of my fading thoughts. Never again. Never again. I am so sorry, my dear fellow.

**How's that for a perfectly evil cliffhanger?! And, for those who didn't know, this takes place after "The Final Problem" explaining Watson's words at the end. Review and I'll post faster :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't think I've ever had so many people reviewing one of my stories!! Seriously, when I post a new chapter one day and then end up with about ten review alerts a few hours later . . . awesome. Thanks so much for your support!**

Time - for me at least - seemed to stop. I knelt beside the motionless form of Sherlock Holmes, trying to stop the flow of blood that was slowly taking his life. After a while, I think my mind just shut down and worked automatically. I do not know how long I was there, but suddenly I was not alone.

A hand was laid on my shoulder and I looked up to see Inspector Lestrade.

"We'll take it from here," he said. I could only watch numbly as Holmes was rushed to a hospital. I wanted to protest, wanted to go with my friend, but Lestrade's firm hand on my arm told me that I could not. That the matter was out of my hands. That there was nothing more I could do.

I allowed myself to be led away, noticing for the first time that Lestrade was not alone. There were several policemen and quite a number, if not all, of the Baker Street Irregulars with Wiggins at their head.

"How did you find us?" I asked Lestrade, unable to put the pieces together.

"You have these street urchins to thank for that," he replied. I looked at Wiggins in some surprise.

"Mr. 'Olmes 'ad us lookin' for you," he explained. "'E also said to watch 'im and follow 'im if 'e went anywheres so when 'e came here, one o' me mates was followin'. 'E 'eard the shot and stuff and went to the Yard. Is the Master goin' to be alrigh'?"

"I don't know," I answered with a sigh.

Wiggins nodded, clearly trying to remain brave and in-control. "If you need anythin', sir, you just let us know."

His concern and the concern of all the boys brought a small smile to my face. "Thank you," I said gently. I watched as the Irregulars filed out of the building, each of them trying so hard not to show their feelings. I suppose it was then that I realized just how important Sherlock Holmes was to people. Those boys relied on him. As did I.

Lestrade took me back to Baker Street so that I could clean myself up. Mrs. Hudson opened the door for us, her face pale and drawn with worry. As I headed up the stairs to my room, I heard Lestrade telling her what had happened. I was barely aware of changing my clothes, of washing the blood from my hands. Alone in the sitting room, all I could do was sit numbly by the fire, staring into the flames. Emptiness filled the room. Many times, Holmes had gone out, whether on business or pleasure, and I had remained behind for varies reasons of my own or his, but this time was different. My friend was not going to stride briskly back into the room with some remark about the weather or some such thing. He was not going to stride in at all.

"Blast it, what's wrong with you?" I asked myself out loud. "Holmes is not dead. He will be coming back. Moping about here won't do a thing." Rising purposefully to my feet, I pulled on my coat and headed downstairs. Mrs. Hudson intercepted me at the door.

"Are you going to the hospital, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," I replied. "I may be gone for some time."

She nodded. "Are you alright, sir? We were quite worried about you."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I am perfectly alright." She nodded again and I could see some of the worry leave her face. Outside on the street, I signaled a hansom and stepped inside. Giving the cabbie the address, I settled back to wait.

**Reviews are loved and welcomed :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors note: first of all, I'm really sorry about the long wait. Due to circumstances outside of my control, I did not have a chance to post before now. On the other hand, I have no finished typing up the last few chapters. I will do my best to upload all of them today. Sorry again. Enjoy.**

**Does Holmes live? Does he die? Read and find out.**

"He's in this room down here," said the doctor, a young man barely out of his twenties. "We've stabilized him, though I believe he owes his life to you."

"Will he live?" I asked as we approached the room.

"We don't know. Right now, he could recover or . . . not. I'm sorry." He opened the door and let me in. Holmes was lying on the only bed in the room. His gaunt, thin face was pale as death. His hands with their long, dexterous fingers rested beside him on the sheets, motionless. There was a soft click as the young doctor closed the door behind me. Slowly, I seated myself on the chair next to the bed. Silence filled the room. I watched my friend's chest rise up and down with each slow breath, the only movement he made. I had rarely seen him so completely and utterly still. A Bible verse came to me suddenly; I do not know where I had heard it. The words seemed to echo about my mind.

"No greater love is there than this, to lay down one's life for a friend."

That was what Holmes had been doing. He knew that his life was in peril the minute he stepped into the warehouse. He had been ready to lay down his life . . . for me.

"Oh, Holmes," I whispered. Reaching out, I took one of his hands in mine.

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It was about half-an-hour later when the young doctor - Henderson by name - returned to check on his patient and visitor. He opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped. Dr. Watson was asleep in his chair, clearly exhausted, with one hand holding that of Sherlock Holmes. Henderson smiled and quietly stepped out. He carried his smile with him down the hall. Somehow, he had a feeling that Mr. Holmes would be alright.

**It's short, I know. That's another reason why I'm going to make sure and post the next chapter really, really soon Like ASAP immediately soon. Reviews are loved and welcomed as always.**


	7. Chapter 7

**On with the story!**

Several days went by and became a week and then some. I practically lived at the hospital, leaving only for the occasional meal and to freshen up now and then. There were quite a few people who dropped by to see both how Holmes was doing and how I was holding up. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson both tried to convince me to go home and get some rest, but I would hear none of it. I was going to stay by Holmes's side, just like I knew he would have done for me.

Another group of visitors were the Baker Street Irregulars. One or two would come by at least once a day to receive news which they took back to their fellows. I must confess that the little ruffians soon grew on me and I looked forward to seeing which one would show up next.

Rain came and went, followed by sun or fog, whichever the weather provided. Murdock and Burbank continued to remain at large though Scotland Yard had a diligent lookout for them. The normal affairs of London went on. Through it all, I waited by Holmes's bedside, sometimes pacing quietly about the room to stretch my legs, other times just sitting. I watched as color returned ever so slightly to my friend's gaunt cheeks. His breathing became deeper. I knew that he would pull through. That thought brought me more happiness than I had felt in a long time.

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The first thing I became aware of was sound. Small noises trickled though my ears and into my brain. The dominant noise sounded suspiciously like snoring. Forcing myself up out of the darkness, I opened my eyes. It took a moment before I realized where I was: a hospital room. I blinked slowly, trying to remember what had happened to bring me here. I had gone to save Watson. Murdock confronted me. A gunshot. Watson's voice, panicked, "Stay with me! I lost you once! Never again!"

I felt warmth against my right hand. Turning my head, I found the source of the snores. Watson was fast asleep, his hand next to mine on the bed. Poor chap. He looked exhausted. And judging by the state of his clothes, the stubble on his cheeks, and the paleness of his skin, he had not left this room very often at all. A smile came to my lips. Dear old Watson.

As if hearing my thoughts, he stirred and opened his eyes. He blinked sleepily at me a moment and then his entire countenance brightened.

"Holmes, you're awake," he cried with his usual penchant for stating the obvious.

"Yes, old fellow, I am." Good Lord, my voice was weak. "How long have I been here?"

"Over a week. You had us all very worried." As I could tell by the lines around his eyes and on his forehead.

"Murdock?"

"Still at large though Scotland Yard has hopes to catch him soon."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "He's long gone by now, I imagine."

"Here now, you should rest," said Watson. I agreed with him for once, but there was something I had to know first. Opening my eyes, I met his own hazel ones.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"My dear fellow, it's you who were injured."

"So he didn't harm you?"

He smiled. "No. Now get some rest." I let my eyes drift shut, satisfied. Just before sleep took me, I felt Watson pull the blankets were firmly around me. Dear old Watson. I owed him so much.

**More is coming very soon. Review :) By the way, does anyone know what color Watson's eyes are? I put hazel, but I really don't know.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Last chapter! Yikes! Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, critiqued, and otherwise given feedback. I appreciated it very, very much. Enjoy.**

Holmes recovered quite rapidly to my great relief. Soon, he was able to move back into the Baker Street rooms, though with strict orders to rest. I enforced those orders with an iron hand and though Holmes complained numerous times, he didn't argue. I was quite grateful for this due mainly to the fact that he can be horribly stubborn when he has his mind set on something. Although, I'm sure he would say the same thing about me.

I did allow for Holmes to move between his bed and the sofa, knowing that if he were cooped up in his bedroom, he would be an even worse patient than normal. I was glad, however, just to have him with me. His mere presence in the sitting-room restored my peace of mind and relieved my anxiety.

One evening, to my great delight, Holmes asked for his violin. I took it to him and settled down in my chair to read while he played. Judging by the cheeriness of the music, he was in a relatively good mood. I realized that his violin playing had one of the things I had missed during my time spent at the hospital. Though it had on occasion grated on my nerves - especially if played at odd hours of the night - I appreciated it very much. If Murdock had had his way, that old Stradivarius would now be silent and still.

I was not aware that the music had stopped until Holmes spoke.

"Watson, is something wrong?" I looked over to meet the earnest, inquiring gaze of his gray eyes.

"No, not exactly," I answered. He tilted his head slightly, giving one of his knowing, piercing looks that told me both that he was not fooled by my answer and that he was encouraging me to go on. "I just keep thinking about what happened. About what could have happened. I almost lost you, Holmes. Again."

Holmes looked away, setting his violin down upon his blanketed knees. "But you didn't," he pointed out gently.

"I know, but . . . " I sighed. "I can't help but remember how close it was." _I thought you were going to die. I thought you were going to leave me. Again. Just like at the Falls. _I did not speak my thoughts aloud, but as I glanced up to see Holmes's eyes once more upon me, I wondered if he could read them like an open book upon my features.

He looked away again. "I am sorry, Watson, but I had no choice. I could not stand by while your life was in danger. Not if I could do something about it." Warmth spread into my heart at his words and the unspoken affection behind them. Holmes may never admit it, but behind that cold mask of logic and calculation is a loving, caring human being with a heart as capable of affection and friendship as any other.

I smiled slightly. "If our situations had been reversed, I would have done the same thing."

"I know," replied Holmes simply, smiling in return. "I never thanked you for staying by my side both in the hospital and here. It meant a great deal to me."

"Don't mention it, old chap. Anytime." Holmes chuckled softly and picked up his violin once more. As the rooms of 221-B Baker Street filled with music, I smiled and continued reading, my sober thoughts of before dispelled like the night at the dawn of a new day.

**The End**

**It's over! I hope you all enjoyed. I have written this last scene from Holmes's point of view as well and will be posting it as a tag to this story. Check it out if you're interested. I am also planning to go back and edit a few things on previous chapters. It's nothing drastic. Just a few word changes here, a sentence added here, grammer/spelling errors fixed, etc. **

**Thanks so much for reading. Until next time, **

**~ Blue Dragon**


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